


The Echo Of A Memory

by SuhailaUniverse



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Missing Scene, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:53:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7529890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuhailaUniverse/pseuds/SuhailaUniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the distance of time, Jamie is never far from Claire's heart and dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Claire would dream tonight. She didn’t want to, didn’t think she could bear it, but knew it was inevitable, for she had never had any control of her dreams. She couldn’t stop herself feeling. Every emotion, every tear and touch was fully endured, like electricity applied to raw, jagged nerves. Tonight would be no different; there’d be no stopping it.

They always came after she’d be unexpectedly reminded of him. And lately, those moments came with increasing frequency. It’d be the little things; the way Brianna’d be sitting at her little table, crayons scattered everywhere and a look of complete concentration on her face, almost as if she willed the page in front of her to colour itself. Or as Claire sat by the window looking out at a dusky Boston twilight, an open medical textbook forgotten on her lap and Bree would waddle toward her, clambering up onto her lap, dislodging the book and nestle against Claire’s chest, her flaming auburn hair catching the fading sun.

She’d been able – before Brianna was born – to bury the excruciating pain deep within her, to teach herself not to see him, feel or smell him around her, leaving herself numb as best she could. To not think of him, while awake. But her meticulously built barricades never stood as she slept. She never was able to make herself forget. Nor – if she was honest with herself – did she truly want to.

***

Tonight, as they were having dinner, Brianna had been in her feeding chair playing with her greens, when Frank, noticing the distant look on Claire’s face, began sternly listing the benefits of Bree’s food as a manner of chastising her. He got up to get something from the fridge, all the while continuing his monotonous lecturing. Claire hadn’t been paying much attention to what he’d been saying, but glanced to see if Bree had taken any heed, only to be faced with crinkled nose 3 year old grinning at her with that ever so familiar cheeky grin, as she dropped her peas to the floor where her new puppy was ready and waiting to devour any and all evidence of mischief. Looking over to make sure Frank was still turned away from them, Claire picked up a pea from her plate and dropped it for the excited pup, making Bree giggle hysterically, which in turn caused Claire to breakout into a face splitting smile of her own. She winked at her cheeky toddler, who blinked solemnly back at her, like a tiny tawny owl.

She would dream tonight. She’d dream of that mischievous grin, of that innocent playfulness, of that humorous glint that lived in his eyes. She’d dream of his rumbling laughter that she always felt before hearing as she lay with her head cradled on his shoulder. Tonight Claire would dream of Jamie Fraser and there was nothing she could or _would_ do to stop it. Tonight, Claire would dream of home.

***

_He was there, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He sat at the far end of her dreamscape. They watched each other for a while, neither needing to say anything at all. Claire couldn’t tell where they were – it smelled cold and damp – yet she felt nothing but the heat of him. He came towards her then, as she got up to meet him._

Later, she could never recall what he’d said, only that he’d made her laugh till her sides hurt and tears ran down her cheeks. He’d kept her safe, wrapped tightly in his arms, his deep voice and the musky scent of him filling her senses.

Claire woke, not with the normal shocked jerk and her heart squeezing in an agony of loss, but instead with a sense of comfort, and peace. She was disoriented, his touch still fresh on every inch of her body, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness. As the recognition of her surroundings truly sunk in, she couldn’t help but quietly mourn what she could never get back, a silent sob uncontrollably escaping her.

“You were saying his name again,” Frank said suddenly beside her. He sounded angry, but defeated. She turned to look at him over her shoulder and saw he lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He was wide awake. “Oh,” she sighed, pushing her lightly damp curls away from her face. _What could she say?_ she thought, helplessly. Sorry just didn’t seem to be enough these days. Claire had said it so many times already; it had lost all its meaning. She didn’t want to hurt him, nor did she want to lie anymore. In an effort to avoid yet another argument, she resignedly got out of bed, grabbing her plaid shawl as she went. As she reached the door, she heard him snort, the bed creaking as he turned over.

Claire crept as quietly as she could into Brianna’s room and slipped into bed with her. Sensing her mother’s warmth beside her, Bree instinctively turned and nestled into Claire’s chest, like she’d done a thousand times before. Rousing from her sleep, she looked into her mother’s face and murmured “hi.”

“Hi baby. Hush now, go back to sleep,” Claire replied, but realized as she said it, Bree was already fast asleep again. She buried her nose in Brianna’s hair and inhaled deeply, taking in as much of her daughter’s sleepy scent as she could. She couldn’t resist tucking a stray ruddy curl behind Bree’s ear. Like countless nights before, she was rewarded with a singular, most beautifully innocent smile she’d ever see. “Damn,” Claire said; a broad smile in her whisper. “You’re so like him.”


	2. The Echo Of A Memory - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the distance of time, Claire's comforting warmth is never far from Jamie's heart and dreams.

Jamie would dream tonight. He’d stopped fighting it a long time ago. The unutterable pain the only thing that reminded him he was well and truly alive. Forced to live a life he never wanted, one he was sure left him nothing but a wraith wandering a world, waiting for the moment he’d see her again, hold her and know her to be real. But wraith he was, his dreams his only anchor to his soul.

The first few months after she’d… _gone -_ had left him standing helplessly, the palm of his hand irremovably pressed against that cursed stone, his trembling knees finally giving way beneath him, plastered palm scraping against the stone, he’d crumpled to the ground screaming his voice raw - he tried everything he could to numb himself. Her presence still fresh around him, Jamie couldn’t bear to feel the echoes of her within him; he’d taken to digging his fingers into the raw flesh of his mangled leg, much to Jenny’s consternation. It became habit after a while. It was worse still, when he’d had to move into the cave; left alone with his thoughts in the deafening silence. She was never far from his mind. He’d sit in the dark, huddled in the corner praying out loud – a rosary in one hand, the other digging deep into his thigh - trying to drown out the thoughts of her, eyes tightly shut willing his mind to envision nothing but the hills and lochs around him, yet his heart insisted on a single, solitary vision – _Claire._

After a while he’d tried exhausting his mind and body instead, constantly keeping himself busy anyway he could. Hunting helped focus his mind. The threat of Redcoats and the promise of game left little room for thoughts of anything else. When the risk of venturing outside forced him to stay hidden, he would read – whatever was available to him, or exercise (which didn’t always help, since they were exercises Claire had shown him). He would do all he could just to be able to stumble blindly into his bed and fall straight into oblivion.

That all changed during one of his rare trips down to the main house one night. He’d shot a dear and thought it best to take it directly to the house. And so, under cover of darkness, he’d crept quietly into the kitchen and carefully deposited the carcass. Straightening up, he took a deep breath – the smells of home and family were overpowering. He couldn’t help but silently wonder as the household slept safe in their beds. He roamed, eyes having adjusted to the darkness, randomly picking things up and putting them down, when he found himself in the study. He had a sudden urge to round the desk and sit in his father’s chair, to feel the familiar creak of leather beneath him. As he sat, something on the desk immediately caught his eye. Dark as it was, the pale moonlight shone through the window behind him onto a letter Ian had been writing. The contents of the letter were not what had grasped his attention though – but the date at the top. _November, 1746._

_A Dhia!_ He realized, a shock running through him. _Claire… she’ll be having the baby soon._

That singular thought of wife and child, _God willing_ , safe and well cared for, sparked in his heart a strength he’d thought he’d lost forever. Memories he’d tried so hard to bury came flooding back to him all at once – the deep, floral scent of her, her fiery touch, the warmth of her breath on his neck as she slept. He fought it no longer, no longer numb himself and let the power of his memories shake every inch of him to the bone, and finally closed his eyes and saw his Sassenach holding their wee bairn for the first time.

He instead finally found some semblance of comfort in the midst of that shattering loss, relishing the visions of the two most important things he had left. He’d lie awake on clear nights looking up at the stars, feeling her all around him; he’d seen bairns enough to picture a wee one, but sometimes, he simply needed her. _Draw him-or her-_ he smiled to himself, _for me Sassenach,_ he’d ask of the night. _Draw the wee one’s fingers and toes, ears and face for me. What does he sound like when he begins to squawk? Does she have red hair, or mad curls? Will ye see me in them as I do you, mo nighean donn?_

And sometimes, he just needed her in the only way unique to them – and even then would she only come fully formed to him, in his deepest dreams.

***

One night, after spending a rare evening in Jenny and Ian’s company, he made his way back to his cave, much to his sister’s protestations. “Ye canna walk back in this weather, Jamie. It’s much too cold. It’ll be raining in no time at all!” she scolded. Aye, it was a bitter cold night, but he knew he could, nay, _had_ to make it back to the cave tonight.

He had sat across from Ian and Jenny, watching just how connected and in sync they were. It was the small, unconscious touches passed between them that uncontrollably stirred within him memories of his time here with Claire. As he sat watching, he could almost feel the echo of her hand idly burrowing through his hair to lightly run her fingernails through the small hairs at the nape of his neck, sending delightful shivers up and down his spine.

His heart raced, his balls beginning to pulse with the sensation. No, he had to get to the cave. Knew the only way to make it last would be in solitude, for dreams were timeless and his cave was far removed from the prying eyes and ears of the world. He had to get to sleep - alone – so he could finally wake up to her.

***

Jamie crashed through the cave’s entrance soaking wet, it _had_ rained as Jenny predicted. “Damn ye, ye wee besom!” he cursed, a reluctant smile crossing his face as he thought of the _I-told-you-so_ look undoubtedly on Jenny’s face. His teeth chattering slightly as he shrugged off his clothes, crouching in nothing but a dry shirt he’d quickly thrown on and his tattered blanket about his shoulders, he hastily lit a small fire by his dry mattress (which he had sufficient forethought to move away from the cave entrance. It was Scotland after all), letting the smoky warmth seep through him before gratefully lying down and at last began drifting off with the smell of woodsmoke and fresh wet earth filling his senses.

He would dream tonight. He’d dream of that touch, of those riotous curls that tickled his nose as he nuzzled into her hair, breathing in the unique scent of her skin, of her glass face that needed no words to reflect her heart. Tonight Jamie Fraser would dream of his Claire and there was nothing he could or _would_ do to stop it. Tonight, Jamie would dream of home.

***

_He’d been afraid at first. He always was. Afraid she’d have faded from him, as so many others had. But there she was, sat at the far end of his dreamscape. He watched her; her bonny hair curling about her shoulders, her smile at once shattered and restored him, her skin glowing beneath her see-through shift. She always was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He felt his breath catch in his throat and could sit no longer. They moved at the same time, towards each other, drawn together like magnets._

_Everything he did was tinged with fear. If he touched her, would she vanish like smoke? Tentatively, he reached out and took her hand, circling her silver ring between his fingers. Solid. He ventured to cup her delicate cheek in his palm. Solid._

_He said her name, but made no sound. In fact, he suddenly realized, his dream was devoid of any sound at all. Not the sound of his breathing, or the subtle sound of her shift rustling against his shirt front as he took her fully in his arms. She’d smiled though, as if she’d heard him fine. He said her name once more and she nodded, in turn said his name. He heard nothing at all, but knew he’d clearly felt her words deep within himself._

Later, he could never recall what they’d spoken of, only that he’d made her laugh. He watched as her face – now always deeply touched with such loneliness and sadness – transform with a carefree joy. He remembered slipping her shift off of her shoulders as they spoke in the soundless void. Remembered how her skin erupted with gooseflesh as his fingers trailed the lines of her body as it came alive, pulsing to the rhythm of his heart. How his own had responded immediately to her touch, yet he strangely felt not the weight of her fingers as she ran them over his chest nor her power as she gripped him lower down and pulled him to the ground. They’re lips met and at once, they became fire.

***

He woke gasping, heart erratically pounding in his ears, the chilly air filling his lungs. The fire had petered out and he lay naked and exposed to the darkness around, having flung his blanket and shirt off some time during the night. _Ifrinn! Her voice, I canna hear her voice anymore!_ He sat bolt upright in a panic, running his hands roughly through his sweat soaked hair, feeling the burn from where – he was positive – she’d raked him, nape to shoulders and down the length of his back. Her voice _and_ her touch were beginning to fade. Grabbing the blanket, he gingerly laid back, his body still spasming from his dream. He shut his eyes, feeling streaks of wetness run down into his ears, trying to desperately recapture the memory of her, but knew the moment he moved she’d be gone. He roughly knuckled at the tears that threatened to undo him completely. Yet he _knew_ beyond the shadow of doubt, whether deaf or numb, he’d felt her energy deep within him more powerfully than he’d ever done before.

He said a silent prayer, _that she may be safe; she and the child_. And began once again to uneasily drift off, with nothing but the faint whisper of the rain outside.

“ _Hi baby. Hush now, go back to sleep,”_ it quietly said.

“ _Damn. You’re so like him.”_


End file.
